Page 55 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

But the longer it drags on, the more I feel my heart sinking.

He’s not going to tell me.

He’ll shut me out again. Lock the gate to that private place behind his eyes and pretend I never asked.

I exhale slowly, trying not to show how much that stings. “Never mind,” I mutter, looking down at my hands. “You don’t have to—”

“My mother died when I was still in diapers,” he says. “I don’t remember her. Just the stories. And even those are fading.”

I stay quiet, afraid to break the fragile spell that has him opening up like this.

“It was just me and my father after that,” he continues. “He wasn’t perfect. He was brutal when he had to be. But he loved me. And he believed in me more than anyone ever has.” Kaz lets out a shaky breath. “He used to say I’d be the one to take the Southern wing. Said I had the mind for it. The fire.”

I glance at him. His jaw is tense, but not in anger this time. There’s grief tucked into the line of his mouth.

“He raised me to take over. Not just survive—but lead. Be feared. Respected. Untouchable.” He swallows. “And then one day, he was gone. Just like that. Murdered in cold blood.”

I tighten my grip on his hand. “Kaz….”

“I was seventeen.” He shakes his head, like he still can’t believe it. “They never caught the one who gave the order. Just the guy who pulled the trigger. He died before I could even ask him why.”

He finally turns to face me again.

“After that…everything changed. I was handed over to Valentine. Adrian and Lukin’s father. He raised me like I was his own, but I knew I wasn’t. I was an outsider. A reminder of someone else’s legacy.”

His voice goes tight.

“But I stayed. Learned. Became what my father would’ve wanted. Maybe worse. I built my own empire—not because I wanted power, but because I never wanted to feel that helpless again.”

I can feel the weight of those words settle deep inside me. All the things he’s never said aloud, spilling out in the hush of the garden.

“And now?” I ask gently. “Do you still feel helpless?”

Kaz doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me like I’m a question he doesn’t know how to solve.

“No,” he says finally. “Not until I met you.”

My heart skips.

“You make me feel…like all of this could break,” he says, his thumb brushing against my palm. “Like I could.”

I don’t know what to say to that. So I lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder.

“My mother died of cancer when I was five,” I say softly.

Kaz’s eyes snap to mine, and I see it there—quiet understanding.

“My dad…couldn’t handle it, I guess.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “He left not long after. Just disappeared. No note. No goodbye. I remember waking up, and he was just…gone.”

Kaz doesn’t speak, but I feel the slight squeeze of his hand against mine.

“My grandma—my mom’s mom—took me in. She was sweet, but strict. And kind of old-school. She raised me with teacups and manners.” I smile faintly. “She did her best. But she passed away when I was seventeen, right before I started college. So, after that…it was just me.”

Kaz’s brows furrow, his jaw tight. I wonder if he’s imagining teenage me, all wide-eyed and carrying grief in my suitcase, stepping into the world alone.

“I met Jennie, Zoe, and Noelle in college. My girls,” I say, and something warmer flutters through me. “We were chaos. But they became my family. The kind you choose. We helped each other survive heartbreak and late-night breakdowns and everything in between.”

I glance up at him again. “I’ve been chasing happiness ever since. Building it myself in little pieces. Writing. Laughing. Holding on to people who feel like home.”